by Bhikshuni Weisbrot
If I seem to run in
circles, forgive me,
I am used to chasing
my own tail until the giddiness
of spinning cools me down.
I may take a moment or two
to settle and see the multicolored
glory of fall,
pressed flat and sodden
after a day of rain,
a season at its peak of beauty
full but fragile
so you know from experience,
bound to disappear.
The last three lines got lodged in my head and refused to vacate the premises, and now still the last two lines continue to echo stubbornly, stomping their feet. Achtung, Baby! indeed.
But this is where I will be taking a sharp left and veering into crazy town, population: me. Instead of ruminating on the above poem, which I have been and really could continue to if left to my own devices, I'll show you the flip side of what is happening over here. Coworker GBF and I have been trying to out-cheese each other. It started when he deconstructed Irreplacable one day in the car, and we officially dubbed it "our song." Next, we started quoting ridiculous song lyrics to each other- like yesterday, I was getting onto the elevator with him and remarked for no good reason, "You don't bring me flowers anymore." Last week, I called him, and said, "When will I see you again?"
He paused and responded, "Are we in love or just friends?"
One morning, he called me while I was driving to work, and yelled psychotically, "96.5, right now!" and hung up. I turned the dial, and had Wilson Phillips' Release Me blasting in my ear.
Our cheese-off has culminated in threats of mixtapes. So far, CGBF has come up with Champagne's How 'Bout Us and Milk & Sugar's Love Is In The Air. I've made an empty threat that my mixtape is going to be way worse, but I'm not sure I can compete. So far, all I've come up with is Bobby Brown's Tenderoni. Blogosphere, do your best (or technically, your worst?)!